The crazed ramblings of a wife of a Royal Naval Sailor

Things I do when my husband isn’t here

I just got home without Popeye and strangely instead of crying or shouting or collapsing into the floor I stood in the middle of the room and let rip the biggest fart ever, right there in the living room.

After the shock and knee jerk reaction blushing, all I thought was “fuck yeah Olive! Now I can do whatever the fuck I want to!”

It was liberating, it was exhilarating, it was a little bit scary.

And as I stood there post fart, hands on hips, chin up in what will now and forever be known as the F U Deployment Fart Pose, I got to thinking.

What else can I now do that I can’t when Popeye is home?!?!

This is what I have come up with so far whilst the girls are being raised on Peppa Pig and I curl up on the sofa trying not to cry:

Spend ages looking for spots in the mirror.

Watch such high brow TV as Buffy, I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and GBBO.

Let the dog sleep on the bed (shhhh).

Put all of Popeyes clothes in a big pile in the bottom of the wardrobe so I can use his drawers for my stuff.

Buy and eat food he doesn’t like all the time. YES!

Fart as I go.

Actually talk to and meet up with friends instead of being a super flakey crap friend when he’s home.

Go on social media all evening if I want to. Without feeling guilty im not spending magical romantic time with him.

Secretly throw out any of his honking Pussers socks that I come across.